Night Sky

I burst outside through the front door like a pent up cat. Even at eleven p.m. the air was still warm but stirring gently like cool fingers against my face and bare arms and legs. Don had just reminded me that it was the last night of the meteor showers and I also wanted to see if I could find Mars, which was supposed to be closer to Earth and easier to see than it had been in something like 600 years.

Normally, I either forget opportunities like this or procrastinate breaking my normal, lazy routine until it is too late, but this time I didn’t hesitate. I have felt a little like a hibernating slug lately, letting most of life pass me by, so not stopping to rationalize as the words came out of Don’s mouth, my reaction was similar to pouring vinegar into a box of baking soda.

Although I was rewarded with both Mars and the long streak of a meteor crashing through the atmosphere, it was something much more mundane that took my breath away and made me wonder why I had waited so long to come out of my cave. My headlong rush into the summer night instantly enveloped me in a stillness that made me feel alone, but not lonely. The dark sky was huge and clear and lured me into the street for a better look. Wrapped in the inky silence, I strolled around with my head cocked back, one hand raised to block out the glare of the only nearby streetlight, noticing how much more three-dimensional the sky looked at night. Constellations and the Milky Way greeted me like old friends wondering where I had been. The vastness, which was freeing, was filled with stars and I wondered, myself, how I ever came to take simple, private moments like this with the universe for granted. Twenty minutes later I went inside a different person.

Happy Birthday, Sarah!

A quick mind, a determined spirit;

A sensitive soul and an accepting heart.

A lover of numbers, an eye for style;

An understated wit and a work of art.

 

We love you!

Raggedy Ann Summers

This vignette in front of Glenda’s antique store, Somewhere In Time, recently sent me reeling back to my childhood. As I drove past it, headed out of town on errands, I was suddenly transported back as sun-drenched memories of childhood summers that I thought would never end flickered through my mind like worn but still-loved movie images complete with sights, sounds, and smells:

Long days and sleeping in. Sizzling sunshine and cool shade. Shorts, 2-piece swimming suits, and thongs for your feet. Lying upside down in the rocking chair reading Nancy Drew novels and horse stories for hours. Sucking the juice out of homemade Koolaid popcicles before crunching the ice. Running through the sprinker and popping tar "babies" (bubbles). Soft ice cream cones from the Shoestring Drive In eaten across the street at the park. Shivering through swimming lessons in the morning, a peeling nose and three-month sunburn from hours of swimming every afternoon, and going back for more in the stillness of the evenings. Playing stick horses and building card houses. Loading hay onto the back of a truck, picnic lunches at the barn, and swinging from a rope in the hayloft. Sleeping under the stars in the backyard and telling the same ghost stories over and over with a friend. Hamburgers with homemade barbecue sauce flipped over charcoal briquets, the crack of Hermiston watermelons sliced into triangles, and headaches from eating homemade ice cream too fast. Sparklers, parades, and fireworks on the Fourth of July, and a family barbecue on my birthday. Single-gear bicycle rides everywhere; standing to peddle uphill, sitting back and letting one or both hands drop from the handlebars during the downhill coast. The fire siren signaling noon or screaming a warning of dreaded grass fires. Saturday night movies for fifty cents, the warmth of my horse’s back beneath my Wranglers. The calming rhythm of hooves clopping on pavement, the smell of evening at sunset, and the pounding cantor of freedom on a dirt road. Freeze Tag and Annie, Annie, Over at the neighbor’s house until dark, a gentle breeze in limp, sun-bleached hair, and cool grass under tender bare feet. Endless blue skies, sheets of heat lightening, and a feeling of time standing still. Sailing the Milky Way, counting falling stars, and making a wish on the North Star. Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight: Please don’t let me ever forget how this feels.

Whew!

Got that sucker done! (Never again.)

Thinking Back

I can't believe that Danielle's 1st Thursday art show was ten days ago already. It seems like I just got back. She will be updating her website (click here if you need the URL) soon with pictures of her work. In the meantime, I have posted quite a few memories of the evening on my family blog (K-Kids Family Fun).

The evening was beautiful and warm. Sarah and I rode the trolley the fourteen blocks from her place to Urban Studios to save ourselves the hassle of finding parking. Later, when I was about ready to fold for the night, I bid the girls, who were going to hit the dance floor, adieu and begged a ride to Sarah's apartment from Larry and Dan. Although Larry forewarned me that they had been unable to find a close parking spot, I still thought it better to be with someone than walk alone after dark. Ironically, by the time we got to Larry's car, he only had to drive me four blocks or less to my destination.

At least he had warned me though, right? In Rome he promised me once, at the end of a VERY long day of walking, that we only had five blocks to go before we'd be at the hotel. It was near the end of our three week Lorenzo Fitness Tour and by evening my feet were tender and, until we took a dinner break, I was running on borrowed steam. After silently congratulating myself for making it past what I counted as three very l-o-n-g city blocks, Larry, who was always brimming with energy (like the Ever Ready Bunny to which Don likens him) turned around to us and declared with way too much glee, "One!" Gasping in disbelief, I swung my arm in a futile attempt to clobber him, but he had anticipated a disgruntled response and danced out of my reach. Eventually my ruffled feathers were soothed with mention of gelato.

Ah, yes; good memories. And Danielle's art show will be another. It was great to see Jen, Sarah, and Danielle all dressed up and happy and to be a small part of the evening's fun. Now it is back to the day-to-day stuff for all of us, yet, in the midst of the doldrum, it is really nice to be able to mentally transport back in time long enough to recharge with a smile. Thanks for letting me tag along!

I'M A FREAKING IDIOT!!!

What on Earth was I thinking? I have seven feet of canvas to paint by Monday! And PLAID! Lots of it has to be painted to look like plaid! Who drew the plaid on there? ME! The idiot who volunteered for this project in the first place. It took two days just to DRAW the freakin’ picture. How could I possibly conceive of getting it painted in only three days more? I guess that’s what idiots like me DO; completely underestimate the reality and abundantly overestimate their patience!

Don’t ever…EVER…let me get into a project like this ever again! NEVER!

Thursday, August 5th: Get a Glimpse

Danielle is participating in First Thursday in the Portland Pearl District this month. Urban Studios, at the corner of NW 10th and Davis is featuring her artwork on their walls and will open their doors Thursday night from 7-8 p.m. (note the time change) for free food, drinks, and live music while people come in and browse. It is the place to be and I'm packed and ready to go check it out! Congratulations Danielle!

Amber Waves of Grain

Many of the towns in my area are islands in the midst of wheat fields. Right now, that which is not hopelessly bent by severe wind or rain stands tall around us like pale toupees covering the wild blue pates of the hilltops. It is a sign of man’s dominion over the earth as well as his dependence upon it; his dreams and hard work and faith that if he plants a seed and nurtures it, it will grow and multiply to feed the hungry…or at least the highest bidder. At best, it is a gamble because the destructive forces of drought, hail, fire and more are whimsical and devastating.

As the bobbing heads in the field remind me, it is time for harvest once again. Like huge grasshoppers, harvesters will dot the fields, cutting stalks and spitting out grain and chaff. Wheat trucks will be clogging up the roads at 45 miles per hour and in the end, the fields will be left with bad crew cuts that darken and rot in the autumn damp and chill soon to follow. Unlike the farmers whose livelihoods depend upon this crop, I tend to take it for granted as a part of the scenery and a source for summer jobs; but this year I am determined to take a minute to appreciate the beauty and promise that it adds to my life.

A wheat field’s showy, golden, wind-rippled beauty brings a reminder that another cycle is being completed. Fallowed fields were tilled to receive seeds of promise that were nurtured into birth and prayed into maturity. Death gives way to new life as harvested grain feeds the world and then comes back to the soil for rebirth. Such is the nature of life; sometimes ungainly and awkward, usually at the mercy of uncontrollable forces, often taken for granted, yet, upon closer notice, absolutely precious at every stage.